From the Other Side
by The Marauders
Summary: A journal project showing Mercutio's views of the events of Romeo and Juliet. A must-read for Mercutio fans! By Moony
1. Part One

Introduction:  
  
This was written as a project for my English class. The concept is very common and I'm sure many of the readers have done it before: write a journal from the point of view of one of the characters. As we were reading Romeo and Juliet, I not only leapt at the chance to do Mercutio, but I also went around the class convincing everyone else to NOT to him. If the character was dead, we were allowed to act as if we were ghosts.  
  
As a result, I ended up having way too much fun with this. I took an old, brown notebook and beat it around until it looked old. (I rubbed the surfaces and the edges with water so that it sort of frayed at the sides) And so here's the content of my journal as Mercutio.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Romeo and Juliet. Can you say 'no duh'?  
  
Note: New paragraphs indicate new entries. I never ended up putting dates down. =)  
  
From the Other Side By Moony  
  
Life is a most wretched trial. This book seems utterly appropriate to represent la vie.  
  
~~  
  
Truth be told, this is ludicrous. Cousin Escalus, prince or not, has ideas that are as mad as the dukes and underlings he always finds time to complain about. Despite the obvious insanity of this "justice", I cannot voice a complaint of this punishment. If this is the price I must pay for speaking against the Lord, so be it. Better than hanging in the gallows for heresy or "willingly" pledging my life and manhood to the church, as most foster-fathers would have their ward do. I spoke against the two- faced Lord that gave us life - and misery - and Escalus demanded that I pay for my sins by keeping a journal. I know what he plots: that I solve my own sorrows by writing them and forgetting myself, but I will not succumb to his will.  
  
~~  
  
My cousin has added things to the mix, saying that if I do not write regularly, he will change his mind about my punishment. If he does this read journal, then he already knows most that I put down, so there I suppose there is no harm done. It was Rosaline. Her bewitching eyes could so easily bring a man to his knees that I no longer blame Romeo for yearning for her touch, though bitter and angry thoughts do come to mind quite easily. The knowledge that neither of us is good enough to sway her from the demanding word of God is enough to stir the most negative of emotions. The idea did occur to me that perhaps her Holy Father in Heaven would show mercy upon someone who loved her. I adopted a penitent stance and placed my hand upon my breast, speaking words off a humble man in love and hoping with every fibre of my being that this all-loving deity would hear. My voice, however, must've fallen just short of His divine expectations as she continued to shun me in the following week. One can hardly blame my actions as on Sunday, I fell to my knees, but instead of praying, I found myself reconsidering. I rose again and cursed the Lord for being a . . . a word I shouldn't dare repeat as I fear that Escalus's promise not to read this was just a front. And it was he who heard my outrage and quickly cuffed me for my harsh words.  
"Your idiocy shocks me. I believed you to be of higher intellect, as you are of my blood, but apparently not."  
"Ay," said I, "I'm of your blood. Blood, which you would draw should I speak against that unholy devil that keeps me from my love. Do not scold me for acknowledging the truth!"  
That comment would prove to be my downfall as his hand shot to his hilt and I drew back, raising my fists. I was amazed that a devout man such as my cousin should restrain himself from tearing me apart, but he managed admirably. Rather, he said that I should keep a journal to use to vent all my sinful thoughts and blasphemous desires. He could not stop me from hating God, but he could keep me from making my views public. Still, I am forced to write in this every day, and I cannot stop loathing the very idea. Perhaps one day he will forget, and I'll be permitted to burn this book, and all its contents along with it.  
  
~~  
  
Dear Diary,  
Although I do not consider you dear, it should not very proper to say "O loathed Diary," so "Dear Diary" is all I can bring myself to say out of common courtesy. But then, what is common courtesy to a journal?  
  
O loathed Diary,  
Today I found my heart in tatters at the sight of Romeo in such a state of torture. He, too, has fallen for Rosaline's enchanting presence, and now, I believe, he loathes our Lord in Heaven as much as I. Seeing his pain allowed me to forget my own as I struggled to lift his spirits. Dear Benvolio - and notice that my "dear" is sincere, most wretched journal - had brought fair Romeo to a dinner at the house of his enemy, in hopes of entertainment and removing Romeo's affections from the sinister wench's grasp. Alas, it was for naught. He is as hooked as I and could only think of Rosaline's charismatic beauty, and I could not blame him for it. I forced myself to enjoy the evening, though Romeo's welfare nagged at my conscience all night, and I was horrified to learn he was nowhere to be found at the party's end. He'd disappeared from Benvolio's sight and though we searched for him, he was not to be found. I shall call on him first thing in the morning and teach him a lesson for his crude manners. It will be best for him, as I cannot help but believe that his love for Rosaline will drive him mad.  
  
~~  
  
Book deprive of all things good -  
  
Out of the blue, Romeo has forgotten Rosaline! Oh, what joy fills my heart at this liberation and the idea of the end of my own suffering! After all, if he has forsaken her, then it may be possible for me to do the same. Last night as I lay awake, I thought of a plan to bring our Romeo back to us, though it seemed to work, I know him too well to truly believe it. I tried, you see, to provoke him into a brawl, knowing that he would readily argue and return to his carefree nature, but he was already cheerful. I can only assume that his heart and mind have ceased to dwell on fair Rosaline. Oddly, though, a frightful old woman was looking for him today, but I've no clue why she sought him. I shall ask him tonight. Surely Romeo hides nothing from his comrades. And if he does, well . . . I'll find out what it is, even if it kills me!  
  
~~ End of part one.  
  
Actually, that was all I had written in this journal, so that's all I have for now. R&R, folks! 


	2. Part Two

In the project, it required that I add a newspaper article and this chapter started with it.  However it was totally out of place and written just like an article and not at all like something out of the Elizabethan era, so I took it out.  Nyeeeh!

From the Other Side

By Moony

            God does exist, and it's clear that he hates me now more than ever.   I was angered by the common Capulet arrogance and by Romeo's apparent cowardice, and allowed myself to be provoked into a fight with the villainy known as Tybalt.  

            I know I died.  I felt my mortal body fade away around me as my spirit was released into my surroundings.  I saw my own corpse, lying below me – quite a handsome fellow – and I saw Romeo raise my sword and thrust it in the Capulet's direction.  And all the while, I thought 'Bit slow, aren't you, fair Romeo?'

            But then something happened.  I thought he was speaking for it was clear and loud in my ear (a feature which, truly, I no longer have) but I soon came to realize that Romeo's lips did not move as I heard the words, and I knew – you disgusting volume of my thoughts – I knew that the words were not spoken aloud, but in my dear friend's mind!

            'For my dearest Juliet,' He thought, 'I withheld from violence and extended a courteous hand.  But for my dearest Mercutio, I'll not hesitate to end your life.  Forgive me, Juliet.'

            I was so shocked that I barely responded to Tybalt's spirit, whom disappeared in a flash of light, and I care not that I hadn't vanished, as well.  It does not matter that God deem me inappropriate for whatever place that awaits wandering spirits.  I will endure the trials of limbo in order to make sure that Romeo does not fail.

Even if he loves a Capulet!   

For, surely, anyone who loves Romeo in return is a friend of mine.  I returned home quickly, sinister book, though I do not recall how.  Much like flying, I expect, but quicker than even the pride of the King's falcons.  I knew that I had to deal with all the obstacles – and that also meant my fool of a kinsman, the nephew of Escalus's first wife (Perhaps she wanders the halls as a restless spirit, and I should meet her and wish my regards.)  He'd been smitten with the Capulet girl for as long as I could remember, and I hoped, somehow, to sway his emotions.  Of course, my presence went unnoticed.  I am, after all, a ghost.   But this is how I know the Lord despises me:  I can still write in this book!  Mere thought causes my script to appear on your infernal, blank pages.  Like a madman, I waste precious time telling my tale.  Perhaps in hopes of someone reading this and knowing the truth.  Also, I'd love to see Escalus's face when he discovers the written words of a dead man.

~~

            I went to the friar who'd had them wed, and I blessed his soul.  He was a stout man and it made me wish I were a vengeful spirit or a poltergeist, so that I could pull his chair out from under him at laugh at his expense.  But solemn times call even for the dead to attend, and I refrained – most painfully – from causing mischief.  Rosaline was there, but I believe that being deceased allows me to ignore emotions like heartbreak, and I felt nothing at the sight of her.  At least the most _merciful_ God felt it prudent to reward me in some way for my quest in uniting Romeo and his love.  

            I watched as the friar pondered things over, and I must admit he's cleverer than I first believed.  Those of faith must be able to hear the dead.  I'd tried to contact my hopelessly naïve relative, Paris, again, as he urgently requested Juliet's hand, but he turned a deaf ear.  Whispers of an apothecary, however, made sense to the friar, and he eagerly sent for one.  The potion I'd suggested came to him, and he paid his gold and pocketed the phial soundly.  I'd once used it in a page's teacup out of boredom, and he'd awakened cheerful three days later, much to the dismay of my kinsmen.  It was almost ten years ago, but it came to mind quickly at the stimulus of the friar's mumbling.

            Paris and Juliet are to be wed.  I imagine that the Capulet lady is feeling rather caught, as, if she has any morals, she knows she cannot marry again.  Juliet cannot run away until she has an escort, and Romeo is held at bay in Mantua to do the Black Death.

            I've seen the spirits of some victims of that nasty end.  They seem so depressed.  I would be, too, if I'd died of the plague.  They died among thousands, while at least I'm somewhat of an individual.  I met my end in a duel that wasn't even mine to begin with!  I would hope that that knowledge would provoke some laughter at my expense years from now.


End file.
